


here comes the first day

by curlie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ADHD Crowley, Autistic Aziraphale, Hair Braiding, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, also has the uhhh, and a lot of me projecting but we dont talk about that, anyways. anyways this is a lot of tender holds and kisses. made me very emotional, dyslexic crowley, not super explicit but like theyre There, that, to say i love you, you know when you hold someones hand and squeeze it 3 times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 09:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlie/pseuds/curlie
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley settling down and recovering after the Notapocalypse. Also the 'you can stay at my place' thing because it feels like a fanfic author's obligation @ this point.





	here comes the first day

**Author's Note:**

> uughgighugoghhfhggg people were. So Kind And Wonderful in their responses to 'two dad shaped beings' and i had. so much fun writing that and i was listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyP_jjv_udQ) so like Oh Crowley We're Really In It Now

_Wake up, say good morning to_

_that sleepy person lying next to you._

_If there's no one there, then there's no one there._

_But at least the war is over._

Someone was there.

He was a soft someone, feathery curls ruffling against Crowley's skin as he curled into the demon's side, nuzzling his collarbone in a cozy stupor.

Crowley's arm had gone numb under the angel's body over the course of the night, and he shifted to gently stroke Aziraphale's back, leaning to kiss the top of his head.

Aziraphale stirred at that, tightening his arms where they were wrapped around Crowley's waist.

"Did I wake you?" Crowley murmured, barely audible.

"I didn't really fall asleep to begin with," Aziraphale admitted quietly. "It was more drifting in and out for a bit." He paused, furrowing his eyebrows. "It's hard to get used to …_not _looking over our shoulders constantly."

Crowley could empathize—even though he'd managed to sleep, he'd woken several times during the night, confirmed that his angel hadn't been taken from him, and allowed himself to try and relax again.

"We're okay now," Crowley told him. "You can sleep if you'd like. Nothing's gonna happen; I'll make sure of it."

"I know," Aziraphale responded, smiling softly. He leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, to which Crowley returned the gesture by cupping the angel's jaw with one hand, kissing him properly.

He felt more than heard Aziraphale sigh into the kiss, feeling the angel lean over him and feeling Aziraphale's hand cradle his head against the pillow and just _feeling _. He felt a lot of things, though above all was the tentative certainty that they were _home._

_It's us – yes, we're back again._

_Here to see you through, 'til the days end._

_And if the night comes, and the night will come._

_Well at least the war is over._

The story seemed to come to its calming end when they were sitting together, tentatively close on a bench, passing a bottle of wine between themselves as they waited for a bus to bring them home. One of them had lost his home—at least, the obvious one.

The bus ride back was a quiet one, tense and apprehensive and, well, _tired. _They were _so tired _.

Crowley had almost drifted off, kept awake just by the bare alertness in the back of his mind that he _had _to. He didn't think Heaven or Hell would appear on a moving public transit to exact revenge—it wasn't really their style, despite everything—but he couldn't be certain, after the past couple days he'd had.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he felt Aziraphale hesitantly reaching for his hand, carefully taking it and threading their fingers together. He was shaking.

Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, but the angel was staring downwards, free hand gripping his own knee, tense, tense, _tense _.

Easily picking up on this, Crowley gently squeezed Aziraphale's hand—three times. 

There was a pause, and Crowley could practically feel the confused hesitation in Aziraphale's mind before the angel squeezed back. Not three times; he seemingly didn't get the gesture—just holding on very tightly, like his heavenly life depended on it.

_Lift your head and look out the window._

_Stay that way for the rest of the day_

_and watch the time go._

_Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living._

_The war is over and we are beginning… _

They made it to Crowley's apartment, still holding onto each other while getting off the bus, making their way up the stairs—even while trying to fumble for his keys one-handedly, Crowley didn't let go.

They entered, carefully closing the door behind them. It wasn't until then Crowley released Aziraphale's hand, if only to gently steer the angel into the other room, where the, uh, mess of holy water from earlier was not present. He hadn't gotten a chance to clean things up in the chaos of the day.

Thankfully, Aziraphale didn't question it, letting Crowley guide him to the couch. He was quiet, and visibly shaken. Crowley was, too, really—he was a little new to the "nearly getting absolutely demolished by Satan himself and somehow surviving" thing—but he knew from experience that he'd be fine for the moment. The shock of these types of things tended to hit Crowley approximately six months or six years after their happening—it depended on how he was doing on a given day.

They both sat down, still not having spoken since entering. The silence wasn't forced or unnatural or uncomfortable—it was just that there was _too much _to say. Crowley felt like if he were to try to hint at or just phrase a fraction of the storm of emotions fizzling through his brain it would all burst out in an unorganized and quite frankly unpleasant mess.

It didn't help that Aziraphale was just _staring _with this mystified expression, like he couldn't believe they were there in one piece. Crowley had no idea how he looked, expression-wise, but he could hardly believe it, either.

And then, all at once, Aziraphale seemed to fall apart. There was the barest quiver in his demeanor, a slight lurch forward, and then he fell into Crowley, reaching out to pull him close. Crowley had his arms around Aziraphale in an instant, like it was a reflex he'd been restraining for years—and, well, he supposed that it was.

Aziraphale's voice was muffled into the crook of Crowley's neck as he spoke. "I thought we'd lost each other," he said shakily, "and that we were going to lose each other again. I couldn't stand the thought."

Crowley's tone was gentle, but his words were fierce as he said, "You know I wouldn't let that happen. Not again."

After a moment, Aziraphale pulled back, and Crowley almost worried he'd overstepped until he saw the look in the angel's eyes. He watched Aziraphale take a deep breath, hands stressing the edge of his waistcoat before he spoke, quietly.

"I think I'd like to kiss you."

Trying to ignore the spike in his unneeded pulse, Crowley hoarsely responded, "You can."

Aziraphale gave him a sad smile, giving a just barely visible shake of his head. "Not tonight," he replied. "I promise you I will once I'm sure everything is safe for us. I just …" He paused, glancing aside for a moment. "I couldn't let us have something so lovely, only to be ripped from us if something goes wrong tomorrow."

Crowley only managed a nod in response. Aziraphale was right; after all this, anything closer would be … too much.

"I do think things will be fine," Aziraphale quickly added, "but I can't help but worry. This plan is … such a gambit."

"We've managed with less," Crowley reasoned with a wry smile.

The angel gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. "That's true." He paused, sobering up. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry I've strung you along all this time."

Crowley reached out, gently taking Aziraphale's hand. "Don't apologize," he said sternly, "you've nothing to be sorry for."

"You're too forgiving sometimes," Aziraphale said softly. He reached out, brushing his knuckles along Crowley's cheek, and the demon leaned into his touch.

"We'll figure it out," Crowley murmured, dismissing the angel's comment, "and then after, we'll do things our way. We've got all the time in the world."

_Lift your head and look out the window._

_Stay that way for the rest of the day_

_and watch the time go._

The drive home from the Ritz was quiet, but there was a contentedness about it. Their hands were clasped together in the space between them, and Crowley could feel Aziraphale's hold on him tighten with apprehension as they drew closer to the bookshop.

Crowley tried to send him a reassuring glance, but the angel's gaze was fixed on the dashboard in front of him, so he settled for squeezing his hand like he had on the bus.

Aziraphale held on like it was a lifeline.

The Bentley pulled up and Crowley got out, coming around the side to open Aziraphale's door, taking his hand as he stood up. A bit too gentlemanly, embarrassingly tender—but _tender _was something they could both use.

They stepped through the doorway, and Crowley could feel the tension drain from Aziraphale as he took in the restored state of his surroundings.

"Oh, it _is _all back to rights," he said softly.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Crowley replied. "The boy fixed everything."

"So he did," Aziraphale said, almost faintly, like he was in shock—though it was far from the terrified shock of the night before. "All the same, thank you for …" He trailed off, rubbing his thumb along Crowley's where their hands were still together. "Thank you. I haven't been very kind to you the past few days."

Crowley shook his head. "Don't start with that, really. Look—" He released Aziraphale's hand, and when the angel blinked in surprise, he opened his arms, doing a _c'mere _gesture.

Aziraphale breathed a soft _oh! _before tentatively stepping forward, and then all but collapsing in Crowley's arms, pressing his face into the demon's shoulder and holding him tightly. He could hear Crowley hum comfortingly, and then gently sway where they were standing, and after a moment, Aziraphale swayed with him.

"They're not messing with us anymore, after today," Crowley murmured. "We're alright."

"We are, aren't we?"

Aziraphale pulled back from the hug, barely putting any space between them before reaching up to take Crowley's face in his hands, leaning up, and pressing their lips together.

Crowley melted into it, moving his arms so that one was pulling Aziraphale closer by the waist, the other coming up to thread his fingers into the angel's hair.

They stayed like that, pressed close and moving together, relief spreading through the two of them in the same way a gentle wave flows along the shoreline. That was it, though, wasn't it? They were each other's harbors—constantly pulling each other in and bringing the other out. Even now, _especially _now, Crowley felt like he could drown in this—this, whatever it was. 

Aziraphale gently pulled back, face as flushed as Crowley imagined his own was, taking a couple seconds to catch his breath before tentatively speaking. "If you'd like—I know you probably aren't very fond of how cluttered things are here—but I thought you could, possibly, move some of your belongings here. With me." He tightened his grip on Crowley's lapels—_ He had grabbed them? _—as he spoke. "There's an upstairs, I can dust things off to make it more habitable—"

"Of course," Crowley managed to croak out. "Do you you even have to ask, angel?"

_Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living._

_The war is over and we are beginning…_

In the months after, Crowley gradually started to move into the bookshop, though it wasn’t exactly heavy work, since he liked to keep his things to a minimum. Less to worry about. That, and anything less than empty would remind him too much of the hustled clusterfuck of Hell. Aziraphale's bookshop, though, was like the equal opposite of that—and it was comforting.

His plants fit in rather well, too, and were thriving. They'd started to sprout flowers, even ones that Crowley didn't particularly remember being _capable _of doing so, which he attributed to Aziraphale being overly affectionate towards them, cooing at them when he thought Crowley wasn't looking. Crowley had absolutely caught him several times, but never had the heart to dissuade him from the task. Anyways, the pop of color was a nice look.

Crowley also let his hair grow out, something he’d been meaning to do again. It’d gotten to a point where he could tie it back if he wanted, into a rather decent ponytail or whatever he was feeling on a given day. He'd at first grown it to where it was back in 2008, but at Aziraphale's admiration and affections, he'd, to steal a phrase from the angel, _gotten carried away._

As they settled in, Aziraphale started to make himself busy with trying to get back on a schedule (as a distraction or a way of getting things back to—or close to—normal, Crowley didn't know, but he wasn't exactly one to be in a spot to comment on others' coping mechanisms), so Crowley found himself trying to find ways to preoccupy himself.

He'd at first tried to get out and go on walks, but that made him apprehensive, being alone in the open like that, so he tried to watch TV from the little antennaed box in the back of the shop that didn't _actually _work on anything other than Crowley's own will that it _should _work. When he'd gotten bored of _that_, he finally tried a last resort in reading.

The main issue with that was, despite how much his angel loved to indulge in a good book and how much it did, genuinely, seem enjoyable in concept, it was _hard. _Crowley would settle himself down, limbs akimbo on the sofa in the back of the shop with a book Aziraphale had very heavily hinted that he'd quite enjoyed, and that it seemed _right up your alley, dearest, _but he'd get distracted, lost in thought, and find that he'd read several paragraphs without retaining a thing. Or he'd completely misread words without realizing it, and then have to go back and reread the entire passage.

All that really did for him was make him more frustrated and restless, which Aziraphale seemed to easily pick up on, mainly due to the sofa being barely fifteen feet from his desk, and Crowley's hisses and under-his-breath comments being more than audible from there. It was far from irritating for the angel, but certainly troubling.

"My dear, don't take this the wrong way, but if you like I could help you?" he offered one day while sitting across from where Crowley was glowering at a copy of a Jane Austen novel. At Aziraphale's offer, he dramatically (but carefully, of course) set the book on the table beside the sofa, turning his head to look at the angel.

"'s not that, I just mix things up," Crowley replied. "Bloody letters all look the same. Doesn't help that your taste in books is so _mind numbing," _he added, being very obvious in using humor to deflect from the issue.

Aziraphale knew quite well that was not the case, especially after Crowley had spent the better part of the last few months hovering over his shoulder and giving his input on the latest book shipments. Still, he said, patiently, "Let me read to you, then. I've been meaning to get into the practice again anyways."

Crowley almost felt a very brief, indignant flash, but squashed the emotion in favor of accepting the offer—being read to didn't bother him, he just had excess frustration from two hours of run-on dialogue passages.

"That sounds nice," he conceded, and then added curiously, "'Again'?"

Shifting where he sat, Aziraphale replied, "It helps me to read aloud if I'm met with a particularly strenuous passage to go through."

Crowley's furrowed expression broke into a triumphant grin. "So, you admit some of your books are boring."

Aziraphale gave him a look that was far from sincere irritability, getting up and making himself comfortable beside the demon on the couch. He gently took the book from his hands. "So," he prompted, "where shall I start?

They fell into a routine, and Aziraphale prided himself in having a few of his favorite works memorized, which he made a habit of reciting to Crowley while the demon rested with his head in the angel's lap. Aziraphale would gently stroke his hair as he did, letting his nails soothingly scrape along Crowley's scalp.

"Would you mind terribly if I were to braid your hair sometime?" he asked quietly one day, after a little while of comforting silence between the two of them.

Crowley's eyes opened lazily, and then he blinked in surprise once the question registered. "Not at all," he replied.

Aziraphale's touch was soft as always, but even more so when handling Crowley, and especially so with his hair. They would sit together on the couch, Crowley leaned forward as Aziraphale carefully interweaved the locks of hair, or they'd curl up in bed and Aziraphale would gently thread his fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss or two to Crowley's shoulder occasionally, breathing a soft laugh into his skin when Crowley would lean back, teasing him for getting distracted.

Another thing about Aziraphale braiding his hair was that Crowley's suspicions in regards to the plants' flowers were confirmed when, while Aziraphale was pausing from the task to turn the shop's sign to "closed" (he'd forgotten), Crowley shifted in his spot on the couch, and saw a few delicate petals drift from where the angel's hands had been threading through his hair before. He himself was certainly no plant, so he wasn't sure if the flowers were due to Aziraphale's _ethereal presence _or the angel simply choosing to make them appear, but either way he felt a fond warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his tucked away wings.

_We won, or we think we did._

_When you went away, you were just a kid._

_And if you lost it all, and you lost it,_

_we will still be there when the war is over._

Crowley's wings were curled around the two of them, bathing them in comforting darkness as they lay in bed together. Crowley's arms were around Aziraphale's waist, nuzzling the side of his neck. A faint light seemed to emanate from the angel, giving a soft glittering effect on the black feathers surrounding them.

"It looks like the sky," Aziraphale murmured.

"M'm?" Crowley asked, shifting to rest his chin on his angel's shoulder.

Aziraphale reached out, stroking Crowley's wing and tilting it so that the light caught on his primaries. 

"Like the stars are caught in your feathers," he said.

"That's all you, isn't it?" Crowley responded of the glowing light, nodding slightly.

"When we see the moon at night, we aren't admiring the light that makes it visible, are we?" Aziraphale replied without missing a beat.

Crowley just about melted, tightening his arms around his angel, pressing a kiss to where Aziraphale's neck and shoulder met. Aziraphale turned in his arms to kiss him proper, gently threading his fingers into Crowley's hair, which messed up the loose braid the angel had done earlier, but neither of them could really bring themselves to care.

They parted after a long moment, just a touch breathless.

"I do love you so," Aziraphale told him quietly.

Crowley rubbed his thumb along the angel's waistband, taking a moment to try to speak. The words were … hard to get out. "I—do too. To you, I mean." He nearly winced, but forced himself to look at Aziraphale, who was watching him fondly. "You know I always have."

Aziraphale smiled, all warm and soft and loving.

If Crowley's wings were the night sky, cool and filled with stars, then Aziraphale's were reminiscent of the white sands of a beach, warm and holding just the faintest glint of light. The warmth of his wings felt nice under Crowley's hands as he picked out stray feathers, smoothing the rest over. Aziraphale relaxed into his touch, tension leaving his body as the demon worked.

"Could you talk about something?" Aziraphale asked in an undertone after a little bit.

"About what?" Crowley replied.

"Anything," the angel said. "I just started to think about …" He trailed off, and Crowley reached for his hand, giving a comforting squeeze. Aziraphale took a deep breath, continuing. "I just need a distraction."

So Crowley started to talk, voice a gentle murmur just for Aziraphale to hear. He talked about the plants he still had to move in, a couple he'd begun to consider adding to the collection. He talked of his admittedly overdone miracle for the play he'd made famous, the ridiculous lengths he'd gone to make it perfect for his angel.

He talked of painting the stars, tone turning almost wistful, but not regretful. He was where he was, and there had been—to call them _bumps in the road _would be an insulting understatement. But they'd cut ties. They were together now, and he told the angel so.

"You're so very good to me, my dear," Aziraphale said softly, affectionately.

Privately, Crowley thought, _someone has to be _, but instead said, "Yeah, well, anything for you."

Crowley let his hands run through the soft tertial feathers, gently massaging the bend of Aziraphale's wings. The angel hummed quietly at his touch, leaning back to rest his head against Crowley's chest. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders, and the angel in turn took one of his hands, threading their fingers together. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Crowley took the chance to gently squeeze Aziraphale's hand, three times, as if to make up for the words getting caught in his throat the night before.

He could practically hear the lightbulb _ding _in Aziraphale’s head after an instant, and the angel turned to look at him, pulling his wings close but not being able to do much to prevent the messy feathers from fluttering around them.

"Oh, _that’s _what that means!” Aziraphale said warmly. "Crowley, that's so—" He cut himself off, murmured a quick, "Come here," and started to pull Crowley into a kiss, laughing into it, at the demon's half-hearted protest of having not been finished with his wings.

"If I don't get your wings presentable now, I'll never get it done," Crowley mumbled, face flushed as he pulled back.

"Later tonight, then," Aziraphale responded without missing a beat. Crowley gave an assenting sigh and nod, and then they were kissing again.

_Lift your head and look out the window._

_Stay that way for the rest of the day_

_and watch the time go_

Aziraphale was tending to the binding of one of his books one day, barely looking up when he felt Crowley drape himself over the back of the chair, the demon resting his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Good afternoon, dear," the angel greeted, turning to kiss him on the cheek. "Did you need something?"

"Thought I'd take you out on the town for a bit whenever you're done with your work," Crowley replied.

Amused, Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "'Out on the town'?"

_"M'hm _. Got a surprise for you."

"Oh?"

"We can go whenever," Crowley added. "It won't go anywhere in the meantime."

"I'm not busy," Aziraphale told him. "We can leave now, if you'd like."

"Sure. Whatever you want."

They were out and in the Bentley within a few minutes, and through the ride Aziraphale told Crowley about the book he was currently repairing, animatedly gesturing with the hand that wasn't entwined with the demon's as he spoke. Crowley listened, occasionally turning to nod encouragingly or offering his commentary on various plot points the angel described.

Aziraphale found himself a bit caught up, and didn't notice until they were driving for nearly an hour that they were definitely not in London, which he was pretty sure constituted as "on the town".

"Where did you say we were going, again?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's a surprise, angel," Crowley reminded him.

They only drove for a bit longer before the Bentley slowed to a stop, though Aziraphale couldn't exactly make out where they were off the top of his head. It was a lot of green and hillside.

Crowley came around to open the door for Aziraphale, taking his hand, and as the angel got out of the car, dark wings opened from the demon's back, coming around to circle the two of them.

Aziraphale took Crowley's other hand, a soft laugh in his voice as he asked, "What is this?"

Crowley grinned, choosing not to answer and instead began to walk backwards, pulling the angel with him. It was almost like a clumsy dance, the two of them slowly and blindly walking through the soft grass.

They paused as Crowley bumped into something behind him, and Aziraphale watched him fumble with his arm behind his back, and then they were walking through a wooden gateway.

"Am I permitted to see now?" Aziraphale teased.

Crowley hesitated, then shrugged and nodded. "Alright, yeah, okay," he said, pulling his wings from around them.

Aziraphale blinked, taking in the sight of, of all things, a cottage, nestled in the sloping hills. It was a quaint little thing, and probably would be easily missed by someone looking for something newer and more extravagant, but Crowley knew the type of place that'd be home for his angel.

There was a small garden visible in the yard, and Aziraphale stifled a laugh at the apple tree growing in it.

Squeezing his hand anxiously, Crowley asked, "Do you like it?"

Aziraphale turned, releasing Crowley's hands if only to bring his own up to the demon's face, pulling his beloved into a kiss. Crowley made a sound of surprise, carefully placing his hands on the angel's waist.

After a moment, still a bit nervous, Crowley pulled back to say, "At first I thought it'd be a nice place to maybe go for a vacation, but then I thought, I've already practically moved into your bookshop—" He was rambling now. "—and I thought you'd maybe like to get away from the loudness in the city, somewhere more quiet—"

Aziraphale smiled at him warmly as he spoke, interrupting the demon. "Oh, Crowley, I love it. It's so—" He paused, at a loss for words. "Darling, I love you so much."

"I—" Crowley faltered, then tightened his arms around his angel, kissing him again.

Barely pulling back, Aziraphale asked, "When will we move in?"

Crowley stroked Aziraphale's cheek with the pad of his thumb, absolutely smitten. "Whenever you want, angel."

_Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living._

_The war is over and we are beginning…_

They began the process of moving in the next weekend, which was at first a task they were excited to take on, finding the whole ordeal, in concept, rather romantic and domestic.

They very quickly learned that was not the case, and started to turn to minor miracles to get things done. That, in turn, more or less ended up an unspoken competition between the two of them to see who could perform the most miracles without being too obvious about it, which Crowley lost when Aziraphale found him doing dramatic finger guns at various books as a means of boxing them away, kept in the angel's very specific version of organization, of course.

They were standing in the doorway during one of the last days of packing things up when Crowley turned to Aziraphale. "You're sure about this, right? I can always bring everything back here in an instant." Always worried about going too fast, the demon.

"I'm positive," Aziraphale told him, enunciating for emphasis. "Besides, it probably is high time I just moved everything to a private collection. I wasn't making any sales, if I could help it."

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale picked up one of the last boxes, leaving the shop with a, _"come on, dear," _called over his shoulder.

The demon lingered, however, taking a moment to gaze around the bookshop. It was just about empty at this point, some scattered pages from paperwork Aziraphale didn't think important enough to pack up lying about. Something about the sight made Crowley almost nauseous; the last time the shop had been so empty was because of everything in it being consumed by—

The shock of everything that had happened, pushed away and ignored all this time, seemed to fall all at once, like a trickle of water, and then the whole dam breaking.

Crowley reached for the entryway, bracing himself on it as he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shut his eyes harshly, so much so that faint nebulae seemed to pop behind his eyelids, but it didn't do much for the heavy feeling that made his throat tight and his head swim.

_He's right there, _he tried to convince himself, _You're moving in together, he's alright, he's waiting for you—_

He nearly jumped as he felt Aziraphale cautiously place a hand on his shoulder, and turned to look at the angel.

"Crowley, are you—" Aziraphale started.

He was cut off as Crowley pulled him into a nearly crushing hug, surprised, but quickly embraced the demon, soothingly rubbing his back.

"My dear boy, what_ ever _is wrong?"

"Nothing, now," Crowley mumbled into his collarbone. "I'm just—I'm glad you're okay."

Aziraphale blinked, a visible yet nonverbal _Well, of course I am _, and tightened the hug. "We're both fine, darling. Everything's okay now. We're just about moved in, and then we'll have a new start to our life together." He gently moved a hand up to thread his fingers through Crowley's hair. "No one's going to hurt or bother you or me ever again."

"M'hm."

"Are you feeling alright now?" Aziraphale murmured. "Let's get you back home, we can see to your garden and watch one of those films you picked out the other day."

Crowley disentangled himself, nodding and fumbling with his sunglasses. With a fond sigh, Aziraphale plucked them from his hands, gently putting them on the demon's face himself.

"'m sorry about that," Crowley said quietly, thumbing at the lapel of Aziraphale's coat.

"Don't be," Aziraphale reassured him. "What happened back then was … don't be sorry."

Crowley nodded, took a deep breath. Right. _Home._

_Here it comes! Here comes the first day!_

_Here it comes! Here comes the first day!_

_It starts up in our bedroom after the war._

_After the war!_

_After the war…_

In truth, the story ends by circling back to its start, two lovers together and comforted and _safe._

Aziraphale pulled back from kissing Crowley, just enough to press their foreheads together, leaned over the demon, hand idly playing with the red hair fanned out against the pillow. 

"You're so beautiful, darling," the angel breathed.

Crowley took a moment, a deep breath, managing to respond (even if there was the slightest break in his voice), "Angel, I love you."

Aziraphale lit up, both figuratively and just a tad literally, smiling _oh so softly _at Crowley. "Oh, Crowley, I love you, too."

Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley again, soft, gentle and tender, hands cradling the demon's face. Crowley tightened his arms where they were around his angel, just barely pulling away from the kiss to lean his face into the crook of Aziraphale's neck. He let himself stay there, breathing in his scent and enjoying the feeling of the angel's fingers running along the nape of his neck.

Aziraphale's voice was a soft murmur in Crowley's ear as he spoke. "How would you like to spend the first day in our new home?"

"Same as I want to spend the rest of them," Crowley responded in kind, leaning back and running his thumb along Aziraphale's cheek. "Here, with you."

**Author's Note:**

> [i have a tumblr now yay](https://dyslexiccrowley.tumblr.com/)
> 
> also the reading scene was v inspired by ['a good book' by butwhymustiputaname](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19438420) which was, as a dyslexic person who loves crowley, the equivalent of that "hope this doesnt awaken anything in me" image being injected directly into my brain
> 
> [obligatory curlie-brand meme for the fic](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/418103418704494593/625801881083445268/1569236042617.jpg)


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